Sixty Shades Of Ice
“Relax. He’s still alive.”
“Barely,” I muttered, cracking my knuckles one after the other, the sound sharp in the quiet.
Clinton shot me a look. “That was the point, wasn’t it?”
I didn’t answer immediately. My gaze stayed on the body at our feet, on the uneven rise and fall of his chest, like even breathing was too much work for him now.
“Just something to get high on. Nothing that should be worth your brain work.” Peeling my eyes off the boy, “What about Krill?”
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